After the Fall
by Jerrath92
Summary: The dead are not the only ones who feast upon human flesh. Unlikely, unwilling companions face enemies of both nature and decide who is worth saving...and who is expendable. Merle, Andrea, Milton, and Daryl-set at the end of Season 3, will continue to Season 5. M for possible sexual content, violence, gore, and language. Please review.
1. Chapter 1: An Open Field

**I still haven't watched the 4****th**** season but I know bits and pieces of what happens. I did, however, watch the Season 5 premiere and I knew they weren't going to be killing off Daryl so I didn't feel much suspense. I watched it with a dull ache in my heart, thinking that it will never be the same without Merle. Gareth is one crazy sonnabitch, though, so I thought I could use that. I've brought back the three dead characters—my new golden trio—but Daryl's here as well. **

** Takes place as Andrea decides to leave Woodbury and Milton and Merle are still alive. But the group will not be staying at the prison, nor will the Governor be the only villain. Again, I'm probably digging myself a grave here in starting this, but it's sort of become a tradition since "Chupacabra" to start a new story every season. Hope you'll stick with it and drop me any advice, critiques, feedback, or comments of any kind. I read everything twice. Thanks everybody!**

**ANDREA**

_Like it or not, I belong here_, he had said. What utter bullshit. No one _belonged_ anywhere in this world. It was just a matter of where you chose to lay your head at night and who you wanted beside you while you did it. No place was worth belonging to and it wasn't worth it to throw your lot in with anyone because they would all turn around and stab you in the back some way or another all for personal gain.

Had she not survived Atlanta, the CDC, and the Greene farm with those people, her so-called friends at the prison? Had she not proven herself a citizen of Woodbury in her efforts to protect the people? Had she not come back to Phillip in the hopes of changing him instead of stabbing him in the back by remaining at the prison? Well, that last one didn't count because she was on her way out the door again, except this time for good. She wouldn't be coming back here, not to save these people, not to reason with Phillip, not to plead with Milton. If Amy had lived, if Dale had lived, she would have no qualms about returning to her people and yet she couldn't help but feel that she was bringing harsher hell down on them all by going back to them. Her friends were outnumbered against Phillip who not only had more men, but more weapons. The only thing going for those people at the prison was the fact that they cared for one another. Big whoop.

And yet she was still going back to them. They never used her or lied with a straight face. They still cared, even if they couldn't trust her like how they once did.

Sneaking out through one of the fences was easy enough since Phillip and his men were out doing God-knows-what, leaving the less experienced behind to guard the town. She merely located a loose board on one of the concealed fence posts on the east side and after several minutes of sweaty prying, managed to yank it out of its frame. She replaced the section she had torn away so that no walkers would be attracted to it, but wasted no more time in dilly dallying. There was no telling when Phillip would be back and once he discovered that she had done a bunk on him, he would be after her in a heartbeat, so she needed to put as much distance between herself and the town as possible.

She had the clickable knife Rick had given her, but Martinez collected her gun, so she only had the one weapon to use against walkers—and humans. Her bag with the rest of her clothes had been left behind, but this was much easier to do this time than it had been fleeing the Greene farm with walkers on her tail for miles. She had left everything in the house; her memoirs of Amy and her dad, Dale's hat, and other keepsakes that she had deemed important enough to grab when the world went to hell. Now, however, her personal belongings consisted of replaceable clothing items so she wasted no time in gathering them when she knew every second was crucial.

She sprinted for the cover of trees when the wall guard looked the other way and then doubled back north by taking the long way through the woods. Once Woodbury was out of sight and sound she slowed down to a jog as a temporary respite, knowing that she would have to pace herself accordingly and not burn out all of her energy in the first few miles. As she calculated how many times she could break into a run without killing herself, she heard a lone voice call her name—the very last voice she expected to hear in walker-invested territory with the sun setting quickly over the treetops.

"Andrea! _Andrea_—damn it…"

Deciding she had best find him first rather than let him add more noise to the racket he was already making in pursuit of her, she turned back around and wended her way through the underbrush as she listened to his fumbling footfalls and his increasingly panicked voice. Not long after, she spotted him stumbling around aimlessly as he consulted a compass and scratched at his head, looking thoroughly crestfallen and frustrated. He had his winter coat on in place of his duct tape suit and a small bag of what-nots slung over his shoulder as well as a scalpel that looked as if it had been stolen from Phillip's workbench in the back of the lab. Breathing heavily, he came to a halt and ran his forearm under his red nose to wipe away the runny phlegm that had accumulated from the cold.

"Milton, I don't think there was anyone within ten miles who didn't hear you," she called as she approached him.

Spinning around in relief, Milton had the shadow of a smile on his boyish face which was coated in a sheen of sweat.

"I thought I'd waited too long to catch up to you—"

"If you're coming with me, we need to get moving now," Andrea interrupted. "You alerted every walker in the area to our location and the wall guard might have heard you as well so we're going to have to move quickly and quietly which means dodging around walkers if we come across them rather than engage. We'll be running—you _can_ run, can't you?"

"I can," said Milton a bit defensively but then added in apologetic tones, "but not very far and not for long. I have asthma—it's not as bad as when I was a kid, but my inhaler ran out so I've been trying to be careful and—"

"_Milton—"_

"I'll do my best."

/

As it so happened, Milton's best was ranked somewhere between an elementary school child on the last lap of a ten mile sprint and someone with a broken ankle. They would jog for fifteen yards or so and then have to come to a halt so that he could catch his breath, clutching at a tree for support as he bent double wheezing. Andrea wanted to shout at him, wanted to be thoroughly upset with his lack of physical fitness, but the idea died in her mind when she saw him sucking in breath through his nose and carefully letting it out his mouth with his eyes clasped shut. She had seen this before in children at the nursery school she volunteered at between college classes and so she suddenly had an image of Milton as an overgrown preschool kid learning how to steady his breath for the first time. It wasn't his fault that he had asthma or that he succumbed quickly to fatigue.

Unsure of how to help, she cautiously rested her hand on his back in an attempt to rub it soothingly but his own hand snapped out at her and brushed it away.

"I'm…fine…just…give…me…a…second…"

She forgot that Milton didn't like to be touched. All she could do now was wait for him to gain control of his—

Milton pointed frantically at something behind Andrea and she saw a walker lumbering towards them. She didn't want to leave Milton unguarded in case more appeared out of the blue, but she didn't want it to get in any closer and so she grabbed the sleeve of Milton's coat and dragged him along, away from the walker which continued to stalk them until they scaled a steep hill and left it behind. By now the sun had set and the temperature was dropping drastically which was extremely dangerous when coupled with their sweat. If either of them caught hypothermia…

She hated herself for doing it, but she pushed Milton to his extreme physical limits because for all the time they lost in letting him steady his breathing, Phillip was gaining ground in coming after them and if it came down to a confrontation, she would have to defend Milton as well as herself.

Several times she couldn't help but wonder if perhaps Milton had been safer staying in Woodbury, if she wasn't, in fact, leading him to a premature death on this road. If he didn't die on the way to the prison, he could very well get himself killed once _at _the place because of his inexperience and his timid nature. Twice she had had to rescue him from situations where his blindness and unwillingness to act would have been the death of him had she not been there, but she couldn't keep this up while at the prison. Her friends all knew how to defend themselves and would not waste time on someone like Milton which meant that the job would be hers alone, but it was a job she couldn't afford to have at this time.

Guided by moonlight, they came to a vast stretch of open field on level ground, which Andrea thought might provide some respite from the ever-sloping and uneven ground, but even as she thought so, she saw walkers milling around so that there was no clear cut path through them. Going around would take too long, but going through would mean trusting Milton to have her back. Her choices were limited.

"Milton, you're going to have to cover me," she said, preparing her knife for battle. "Just guard me and I'll get us through but keep one hand on my back at all times; I don't want to lose you in the dark."

"Okay," said Milton simply as if she had asked him to help her wipe down tables after a picnic gathering.

"Hey, look at me."

She couldn't tell exactly if he had his eyes on her in the darkness, but his head was twisted in her direction so she continued in a no-bullshit tone. "I mean it, Milton. You have to stay with me. Don't let go of me, even for a second or you'll fall behind and I won't know until I'm on the other side of the field. I know how you are with—with physical contact, but please, do this for me."

"Okay," he said again and took hold of the back of her jacket vest in a vise-like grip that a toddler would have with a mother's fingers when crossing the street.

Andrea moved fast, going briskly from walker to walker and dispatching them with clean cuts to the eye. She didn't waste time double-tapping because they were hurrying along at such a pace that by the time the walkers stood back up if she hadn't completely managed to kill them, she and Milton would be well out of reach. A few times she leaned forward slightly to feel that there was a tug of resistance from behind, assuring her that Milton was still in tow. Then, when they had nearly reached the other side of the field, she heard it.

Something on four wheels was coming fast in their direction and she spun around to see headlights piercing the night. Without thinking, without waiting for consent, she yanked hard on Milton's arm and pulled him down beside her. Through the long grass, they could see the lights moving closer and Andrea pressed herself as flat against the ground as possible. Milton's hand shook with a hold on the scalpel but whether it was from fear or cold, she couldn't tell.

When the vehicle was close enough that Andrea could feel the freezing, compacted dirt beneath her trembling, the engine switched off. Panting with the exertion of the flight through the field, Andrea copied Milton and put the breathing technique to use. She heard the truck door open and the sound of a walker growling as it neared its potential prey but after a moment, there came a dull _thunk_ followed by the rev of the engine again. It was going, going, gone, and she finally deemed it safe enough to look up.

A walker bore down on her, clammy blood-stained hands inky black in the moonlight. Milton tackled it around the knees and then stabbed its forehead with the scalpel. Almost immediately he threw himself backwards, frantically attempting to rub the blood that had squirted out of the walker's head off of his hand in the dirt. His quick, rather noisy movements were sure to attract more walkers and Andrea, though grateful for his timing, had to subdue him. She took his hand in hers, and made a shushing sound that seemed to work like some kind of an off switch on Milton.

"You're okay," she whispered.

"The blood—" he said meekly.

"Blood comes off. We'll find a stream and wash it away."

"Blood," he murmured again, sounding and looking utterly helpless.

"Milton, don't fall to pieces on me. We have to keep moving, understand?"

"Phillip's on the move."

"Yes, that was Phillip and I don't think you want him to find you sitting here in the dirt obsessing over some blood on your hand, do you? Come on, stand up."

She hauled him to his feet, retrieved the scalpel from the walker's head, and after wiping it off on the ground, handed it back to him. "Your weapon, Mr. Mamet," she said, and then led him on into the night.


	2. Chapter 2: Physical Contact

**MERLE**

"Anything?" asked Rick.

"All's quiet, Officer Friendly," said Merle without much enthusiasm. The small joy of verbally abusing Rick had lost its appeal after the former lawman returned from the parlay with the Governor. With open war brewing, the time for joking around was at an end and even Merle knew that things had to take a serious turn now. He had thought that he had Daryl could make it on their own as they once did, but his stubborn baby brother refused to leave his people, which left Merle with the sole option of locking himself up in yet another prison to wait for the tidal wave of gunfire to fall.

"I'll take over from here," said Rick without looking at him and there was a moment of tense silence in which Merle thought that he might even dare to say, "Go get some rest," which was typically the standard phrase for one watchman to say to the next. Rick, however, probably could give a rat's ass if Merle got any rest that night. Merle had his hand on the main cellblock door to go back inside when—

"No, wait. Look there."

Merle squinted though the darkness to try and make out what Rick was pointing to, but all his eyes could distinguish were biters here and there.

"Yeah, biters, that's a rare occurrence, that is," he said with a yawn and again attempted to go inside to the warmth of moldy-smelling blankets and stained cots but Rick put a hand on his shoulder and steered him towards the fence.

"No, look—comin' up the path."

Merle gazed at the rec yard where biters were roaming about with no clear direction, bumping into one another and getting snagged on barbed wire. On the path that appeared grey in the light of the moon, however, he saw two figures walking deliberately towards the courtyard while trying not to attract attention from the surrounding corpses. Unease gripped him, thoughts of a trap or a ruse to distract them flashed across his mind and he immediately raised his AK-47, scanning the perimeter fence for signs of the Governor watching them. Rick put the scope on his M4A1 to his eye and stepped behind the bulk crate which provided a type of shield against anyone aiming in from the outside.

"I don't see anythin' out there," he concluded after a moment.

"That's what's s'posed t'happen in a good ambush," said Merle flatly. "But they could still be out there so don't relax just yet."

"If I relaxed every time I _thought_ the coast was clear, I wouldn't have made it this far," Rick replied a bit defensively.

Merle scoffed and watched the two figures come closer until suddenly one of the biters turned on them and extended its deceased hands to grab the taller one's arm. The other kicked it hard in the stomach and then started sprinting for the gate with their companion attempting to keep up. Alerted to the presence of two highly edible humans in their midst, the biters began to swarm towards the courtyard, their demonic growling rising to a din in pursuit of the humans.

"Cover me," said Merle and without waiting for Rick's consent, stole forward to the circle of parked cars in the courtyard, keeping his weapon at waist height. He took temporary cover behind the vehicle closest to the gate and could now clearly distinguish a male and a female running up the path.

"Open the gate!" shouted the female.

_Andrea_. What in the hell was she doing back here? Merle ran to the gate, tucking his weapon under his arm and fumbling clumsily with the chains which were all that stood between them and the biters. Behind him Rick was cursing at him, but he didn't care. The key was in the lock and Merle twisted it, wrenching the chains apart just enough so that Andrea and her companion could squeeze through. The male tripped over his own feet and toppled onto her but Merle turned his back on them, tightening the chains once again and securing the lock as the biters reached the gate and tried to stick their arms through the holes.

Out of sheer impulse, Merle stabbed one biter in the nostril with his blade attachment and then looked down on Andrea who was breathing quiet heavily but nowhere near as heavy or desperately as her friend—Milton. The shouts had aroused the others and Daryl, Michonne, Glenn, and Maggie came running out into the courtyard with flashlights shining every which way. One hit Merle full on in the face and he threw up his arms to shield himself.

"Andrea-?"

"Where did you come from?"

"Who's that?"

"Merle, you idiot!"

Peeking through the gap in his arms, Merle shrugged innocently. "Aw, c'mon now, don't tell me you wouldda stood there and done nothin', Officer Friendly."

Rick stormed over to him, stepping dangerously close to his personal bubble zone. "That wasn't your call to make. You put us all at risk to open the gate and you had no right—"

"Save it, pal."

Looking livid by torchlight, Rick opened his mouth to retort, when Daryl spoke up, dragging Milton to his feet by the back of his collar so that he was no longer lying atop Andrea.

"Why the hell'd you bring this little prick with you?" he asked her. Merle saw Milton's eyes narrow behind his circular glasses, saw his hand tighten around the blood-stained scalpel in his hand.

Though he could not hear it over the sound of the others talking and questioning Andrea, Merle saw Milton's lips form the sentence, _Let go of me_.

"Thought he was the Governor's lapdog or somethin'," said Daryl, eyeing Milton with distaste, but completely overlooking the expression on the other man's face.

"Let—go," said Milton, his teeth clenched this time as he spoke just audibly.

"He's fine, let him go, Daryl," said Andrea urgently, but too late. Milton clawed at Daryl's arm and raised his armed hand but Merle, who had seen this type of behavior once before from him, seized him in a headlock and brought him to his knees. Still fighting and fuming, Milton struggled and thought Merle knew he was not solving the problem of Milton disliking to be touched by touching him, he also knew how the Governor had handled the situation and so he held on. He was not, however, going to speak softly to Milton and play Mom like the Governor had done when Milton lapsed before.

"Let go of me!" shouted Milton.

"Drop what's in your hand, son," said Merle, careful so as not to stab Milton with his blade.

"Gerroff, get—_off_!"

"That was my brother you was aimin' t'maim, Miltie and I ain't lettin' up 'til you stand down. Drop it now!"

Milton, it seemed, had a stubborn streak about him and despite his loathing of physical contact, his anger at Daryl for manhandling him appeared to overlap the former feelings. He tightened his grip across Milton's windpipe, hoping that the lack of oxygen running to the man's lungs would force him into submission.

"Merle, you're choking him, let go!"

Andrea was at his arm, tugging and beating her fist against his bicep and finally, he released. Milton sprawled forward, hand releasing the scalpel as he gagged on the air and rubbed at his throat, which still had marks on it from where Merle had held him.

"What the _hell_ is the matter with you?" Andrea shrieked, shoving him before dropping to her knees to comfort Milton. The four-eyed Governor's pet, however, wouldn't accept any help from her and so the lot of them waited out the next minute or so listening to him wheeze and spit.

When he seemed to have found his voice, he croaked, "Damn you, Merle Dixon."

Merle shrugged. "You made a bad move, son. Pulling a blade on my brother's the stupidest thing you couldda done with me standin' right next t'you."

"Excuse me, but I want to know why the two of you are here and why you brought _him_," said Glenn distastefully, pointing at Milton. "And another thing, what's his problem?"

"We left," said Andrea simply. "We couldn't get Phillip on his own to end this thing before anyone else gets hurt, so we snuck out, but he's driving around looking for us. It's a miracle we got this far with the near misses we've had tonight."

"But who _is_ he?" asked Carol, her weapon still trained on Milton, though Merle had to laugh at her because if she—if any of them—knew anything about Milton Mamet, they'd know how little of a threat he was. True, he had just done a Hulk on Daryl, but that was only because he was having one of his episodes.

"Milton Mamet," said Daryl. "He's the Governor's _advisor_ or some bullshit. At least, that's what he told me when we went to negotiate."

"As in _advising_ the Governor to have Merle beat the shit out of Glenn?" asked Rick, stepping closer to Milton and towering over him as Milton still knelt, massaging his neck. "_Advising_ the Governor to declare war on us?"

"Rick," said Hershel quietly, "I can vouch for him. He's a recorder and an observer, an experimenter and a _person_ above all else, but he's not a soldier and not a mercenary. He's known the Governor for longer than the breakout, isn't that right, son?"

Milton nodded hopefully, wincing as he swallowed.

"And what is your major malfunction, Milton Mamet?" asked Rick, squatting down so that now he was on eye level with Milton, but keeping his hand near the Colt Python at his waist. Again, Merle snorted. Major malfunction didn't even begin to describe Milton, but it wasn't his place to speak up for anyone but Daryl.

"Epileptic seizures," said Milton hoarsely. "I resent physical contact."

"And so you thought you'd go and stab Daryl for touching you?"

"He doesn't think like that, Rick," said Hershel. "All reason escapes him when he flies into an episode and he can't think. His brain just tells him that he's being attacked and so he fights back, attempting to eliminate the threat. In this case, Daryl was the threat and Milton had a weapon so he sought to use it. He knows what he did was wrong, but not until after the fact."

"And what makes you the expert?" asked Merle, more out of curiosity than indignation.

"My brother was epileptic," Hershel explained. "He died young, and when I was a child there weren't treatments and solutions to episodes like there are today so I learned how to contain him when he went into a fit. I can promise you that Milton here's more of a danger to himself than anyone else, though if you get unnecessarily rough with him," Hershel cast a disapproving glance at Daryl, "he won't take it lightly."

"Great, I'll keep that in mind," Daryl grumbled.

"May I stand up?" asked Milton, appealing to Rick who nodded slightly, backed up, and watched Milton sway in place as he came to his feet. With one hand holding his lungs and the other still at his throat, Milton turned to address Daryl.

"I know that this wasn't a very good first impression," he said, visibly straining to get every word out. "I didn't come here to hurt anyone and I apologize for my-my outburst. I can't promise it won't happen again, but I will do my best to remove myself from your company if I feel the onset in time. That is—if you allow me to stay."

Andrea sidled over to him and spoke directly to Rick. "Please, Rick. Woodbury is full of decent people, good, innocent people but they're all afraid of you and of what's outside their wall so they follow Phillip's lead because he's a capable leader. Milton's been outside the walls and he knows what Phillip is, which is why he came with me. He's my friend—probably the only one I've constantly had throughout my time in Woodbury—and Phillip would have killed him if he had stayed."

Exactly what Milton had done that would have caused the Governor to suddenly turn on his guinea pig, Merle would have liked to know, but figured he would have to gather the information himself since neither Andrea nor Milton seemed to be in the mood for sharing. The Governor had given Merle up because of a lie (aided by Michonne putting her sword through the Governor's biter-daughter's head) but Merle had been his lieutenant, so what could helpless, hopeless, gutless Milton have done to earn the same betrayal?

"You're responsible for his actions," Rick told Andrea. "You watch him and keep tabs on him at all times. If something goes wrong inside the prison and the Governor's behind it, he's the first one I'm blaming, understand?"

"Thank you, Rick."

"Consider yourself on probation, Mr. Mamet."

_That makes two of us_. However, Merle secretly dreaded that once the group got a feel for who Milton truly was, they would accept him into the fold a lot more willingly and quickly than they would accept Merle, if they ever did.


	3. Chapter 3: Foreign

**MILTON**

"What's the matter, haven't you ever seen a baby before?"

It wasn't that Milton hadn't seen a baby before, but it had been about six years since he was in such close proximity to one and he remembered how fragile and unpredictable they were. One second they were nestled quietly in their caregiver's arms and the next they were shrieking at the top of their lungs, attempting to communicate some sort of discomfort without the ability to speak. Milton was quite sure that _he _had never been so fussy as an infant, partially because by the time he was a year old he had overcome separation anxiety from his mother and sought out corners to sit and play in rather than snuggle up to her and listen to her read from colorful, pointless storybooks. Babies always needed something or another and so Milton found them to be quite irritating and foreign, which was why he promised himself that he would never have one of his own—but that would mean overcoming the obstacle of attracting a woman and then having to participate in much more than touching.

Still, he didn't want this young lady to know he was afraid of a baby, though he probably wasn't doing a very good job since he was sitting at the top of the stairs, eyeing the child warily as she lay cradled in the woman's arms.

"It's okay, really," said Beth. She had a soft quietness about her like her father, but Milton couldn't see much family resemblance. At the moment she looked highly amused at Milton's discomfort.

"She seems healthy," said Milton evasively.

"She is. Do you want to hold her?"

The notion was almost laughable. Almost. But Milton rarely laughed.

"Come down here; she won't bite," said Beth. "She's probably the only creature on this planet at this point who doesn't bite. Come on."

"Actually, I think I should be reporting to Rick for—"

"Milton, come down here," said Hershel, hobbling out of his cell on his crutches.

Hershel had spoken out for Milton when his fate stood in the void, so Milton figured the least he could do was walk down fifteen steps and see what the elderly man had to say, but he had a feeling that he knew what was coming. Four steps from the bottom he paused, waiting for Hershel to speak his peace, but the older man motioned with one of his crutches to where his daughter sat with the baby and Milton slowly sank down onto the rung beside her, keeping at least five inches between the two of them.

"If you're going to be staying with us, the baby needs to know you, familiarize herself with your touch," said Hershel. "If something were to happen and we became separated or had to leave the prison and by some chance you ended up with her, you would need to know how to keep her quiet and calm, which she might not be if she doesn't know you. Spend a while each day with her and by the end of the week she'll trust you."

_It's a baby,_ thought Milton. _She doesn't have the brain capacity to trust yet. _

"Here, hold out your arms for her," said Beth but Milton drew back instantly.

"I did mention last night that I'm not favorable towards physical contact, didn't I?"

Hershel came down onto his knee in front of Milton and put his hand on Milton's wrist. The touch was not forceful and not threatening, but still awkward and though every instinct within Milton was begging him to retreat from it, all he did was stare at Hershel's weathered hand as his heart pounded in his chest.

"You're breathing heavily," said Hershel. "Take it slow and calm down. You're not in any danger."

_Count to ten, focus on something else. You're safe. _He repeated the words his mother had taught him as a way of coping with his disorder. It had been a long time since he was forced to resort to counting but he still zeroed in on the concrete floor, observing the cracked pattern and smooth, bland coloring. Ten seconds passed and Hershel's hand was still on his wrist, but Milton's pulse had returned to normal.

"Good. Now, do you think you're up for holding the baby?"

"Um," Milton glanced at the infant in Beth's arms whose rosy little face was lax in her sleep, "maybe for today I could just watch her. Besides, she's asleep and moving her now might wake her up and I don't think a fussy child is the best way for me to adjust to dealing with one."

"Fair enough. I'll leave Beth to talk you through it then."

Hershel stumped back to his cell and Milton was about to make a noise of protest when the baby gave a small whimper. Milton froze, praying that she wouldn't wake up and after several tense seconds, she slept on with no complications. Beth smiled at him and shook her head.

"Her name is Judith. She's Rick's daughter."

"Who's her mother?" asked Milton. He had been trying to pair up Carol or Maggie with Rick and make the image of the baby fit with their genes, but since he was never very good at studying faces anyway, the effort was a lost cause.

"She didn't make it," Beth whispered. "Walkers got into the prison and we were separated for a while. Judith's momma couldn't deliver her normally and she had to be cut open."

The image Milton had of this birth occurring was not what jarred him, but rather the expressionless way Beth talked about it as if death—and a gruesome one at that—did not affect her.

"Anyway, we have to make formula runs to substitute for breast milk, so maybe Daryl or Glenn will take you with them. It'd be useful for you to get some practice."

"I'm not entirely sure that either of them would appreciate me accompanying them. Neither of them have any reason to respect or trust me after the situations they've been in, which is understandable. And I would only get in the way if I were to go with them because I haven't mastered any weapons yet."

"Neither have I, but you learn out of necessity, so don't worry."

Beth turned her head towards him, her eyes wide and alert. "Is it alright if I touch you?"

"Um…"

No one had ever _asked_ if they could touch him before. They either grabbed him or stared him dead-on in the eye as a way of telling him that they were about to put their hands on him. The fact that she had asked caught him completely off guard so that all he could do was nod.

She patted his arm with her free hand, her touch gentle like Hershel's but comforting. She wanted to reassure him, not try to prove a point with how interaction worked. And with that gesture, she was more sincere than anyone else had been so far.

"You're a good man," she told him. "Rick will see that soon enough."

Someone cleared their throat at the cellblock entrance and Beth quickly withdrew her hand as Maggie stalked in, arms folded crossly. She glared down at Milton as if he had done her a personal wrong.

"Merle wants to see you in the cantina," she said.

"Okay, thanks."

Without another word Maggie left and Beth frowned in her sister's absence. "Sorry. She's still upset about what the Governor had Merle do to her and Glenn. And the fact that you were there—"

"I didn't know what he was doing," said Milton earnestly. "I didn't even know that Glenn and Maggie were _there_. If I'm going to constantly be blamed for being a citizen of Woodbury just because it means I was in the same vicinity as Phillip, then how am I ever supposed to get anyone to trust me?"

"I believe you," said Beth. "I do, really, but no one here can confirm that and Glenn and Maggie went through a lot so they're not very forgiving."

"That's reassuring."

"Don't worry about it, they'll come around." She didn't sound hopeful. "You'd better go and see what Merle wants."

"Yes, because we all live to appease Merle," Milton added darkly, but went anyway. He found Merle selecting weapons at random from the supply spread out across two tables and wondered briefly, even with some excitement that was quite unnatural for him, if he was going to get to use something from the deadly arsenal.

Upon seeing him watching in reluctant awe, Merle straightened up and set aside the machete he had in his hand. "Mornin' Miltie, how'd you sleep?"

Surprised that Merle would ask such a thing, Milton blinked and began, "Well, since you ask—"

"That's great. Pull up a seat, science boy, I'mma learn ya some weapon training."

Annoyed, Milton sat down in front of the weapons, thinking that at least one of them would be a proper fit for him, something manageable for a man who might accidentally shoot his toe off if he panicked.

"So…what exactly are you going to attempt to do here?"

"You've gotta prove your use somehow, Miltie. Baby's the only one here who can't use a gun besides you, but what's your excuse?"

"I don't know the first thing about firing a weapon, you know that," said Milton a bit crossly. "I know they're dangerous and that they should be respected, but I've only ever held one to pass it on to someone else and once to load it for Phillip."

"Which is why we're startin' small and workin' up to it. Today's lesson is the basics. We'll be studying the ancient and delicate art of the stick. Catch."

Merle tossed Milton a fire poker which Milton promptly dropped on his knee and then let clatter to the floor. Embarrassed, he bent down to retrieve it and bonked the back of his head on the table as he tried to sit up. Now with two throbbing limbs he sheepishly set the poker back on the table and saw Merle fighting to either keep from laughing or rolling his eyes.

"We've got a long way t'go, knucklehead."

"Are you sure you're the best person to be teaching me how to use weapons? You're not exactly good for anyone's moral."

Merle prodded Milton roughly in the chest, making him sit so far backward that he was in danger of overextending his spine. "Look, Mamet, are y'lookin' for someone t'hold your hand with every little mistake you make, or are d'you want t'actually learn how to shoot one've these damn things like a man? We ain't got time t'smell the roses here, numbnuts, and I'm the only one who's got military experience so that makes me qualified t'teach you. Also, since Officer Rick and Company aren't as trustin've me or you, they've seen fit t'keep the two've us together where they can watch us so's we don't stir up trouble. Now pick up the poker and stand up!"

Milton had his hand extended towards the close combat weapon when Carol came sprinting inside, hollering, "Everyone come out, there's a convoy coming up the road!"

Swearing, Merle chose a rifle, shoved another one into Milton's hands, and beckoned that he follow him outside.


	4. Chapter 4: With Us

**ANDREA**

Six cars packed with Woodbury citizens stood at their gates. Phillip led the convoy himself, sitting shotgun and hanging out of the window like a dog enjoying the breeze. It would have been funny if not for the expression on his face that wished the most gruesome of deaths to each and every individual inside the prison. One of his lackeys drove each of the cars and they positioned them in a horizontal line in front of the makeshift gate that Rick and the others had constructed as a temporary barrier. It might keep out the dead, but it would do nothing against Phillip's cars.

Behind their wooden barriers surrounding the interior perimeter of the courtyard, Andrea and her nine companions watched the procession, knowing that even with their new supply of weapons, they would not be able to hold off a full frontal attack if Phillip decided to charge through the gates and storm the main area. She saw Carol with her eye to a scope, her expression grim as she regarded Phillip's men. When last Andrea knew Carol, the latter had never even held a gun in hand and certainly never had such a hard look on her face. She had been a woman of fear and tears. Beside her Carl just barely stood on tiptoe to see out of a break in the crates. A sickly boy nursing a bullet wound and a prepubescent voice was how she remembered this miniature Rick Grimes. Rick senior took the front position, the place of the leader and on either side of him were his two best men, Daryl and Glenn. Both men had changed in opposite ways; where Glenn used to be overly trusting and easy going, now he regarded Phillip with bloodlust in his eyes while Daryl had opened up, letting himself befriend the others. Michonne and Maggie were on the far right, glancing every so often at each other in unease. And on Daryl's other side was Merle, absent his mocking grin, but still striking quite the impressive figure for a man who had a handicap. Standing on Merle's left, Andrea's right was Milton whose hands shook on the rifle he held and Andrea saw that the safety was on.

It seemed like another lifetime ago when Rick had reminded her to take the safety off of her Ladysmith as she threatened him in Atlanta. Now she reached over and switched the safety off as Milton glanced down in puzzlement.

"Your weapon is live now," she told him seriously. "All you have to do is point and pull the trigger so don't go crazy with it and be careful where you aim it. Stick close to me if something goes down, okay?" She saw Merle lean around Milton to raise an inquisitive eyebrow and then decided to add on a whim, "Me or Merle."

"Yeah…" said Merle with a bit of a sarcastic tone. "I'll watch your ass, Miltie, just don't shoot at it."

"This is bad," said Milton, stepping nervously from foot to foot. "This is very bad."

"Quit potty dancin' and keep your eyes forward, son," said Merle as Phillip came around the side of the middle car and raised a bullhorn to his mouth.

_No, that'll attract more walkers._

Apparently Phillip realized the same thing, for he turned the horn on and made several attempts at clearing his throat before addressing them. "There's thirteen of you in there. Thirteen including a crippled man, a teenage boy, and a baby. Seems an unlucky number, wouldn't y'say? Well, me, being the good neighbor that I am, would like to remedy your misfortune. You have something of mine and I'd like my personal belongings back. There are four individuals I require if I were to turn my back on this place and forget that I ever knew there were people here. I want Michonne, Merle, Andrea, and Milton. Send 'em out to me and the rest of you walk free. I only offer this once."

As one, Andrea, Milton, Merle, and Michonne turned to Rick, anxious for his judgment. This was a very real threat and one that could not be turned down or ignored at any cost, but what if Rick _did_ hand the four of them over? Phillip would do away with them as he pleased and then, when he had had his fun, he would come back just to finish the rest of them off for good measure. Rick had to know that, so what in the hell was he going to do?

"He's waitin', Officer Rick," Merle prompted and Andrea wanted to hiss at him to shut up because his attitude was not earning him any bonus points with Rick.

"Gimme a second here, Dixon," said Rick, walking over to Andrea. His stare was accusatory, but Andrea did not back down. She knew the doubt she saw there, the same doubt he always had when faced with a moral decision, except this time his hand was on his holster and he had every intention of using it if she worded her answer incorrectly.

"Well?" he said.

"We're here, Rick," Andrea assured him. "All of us."

"Y'aren't just saying that because you think it's what I wanna hear? Maybe this'll help." He took her by the arm, pulling her in until they were almost nose to nose and she could smell the sweat on him. Out of the corner of her eye Andrea saw Milton start to raise his rifle.

"It's fine," she said, hoping Rick would take it as her answering the question and not telling Milton to back down.

"You've seen the things I've done to protect everyone. You know what I can do to anyone who fucks with that. I wanna know once and for all, are—you—with—us?"

"Yes," she said strongly. "Whatever happens, we're with you."

Rick released her and spun around to face Michonne at the other end of the fence. "Do you swear loyalty to this group? I need a yes or no answer right now."

"Yes," said Michonne, her head held proudly.

"Dixon?" asked Rick. "Merle Dixon. Whatever infectious disease is hovering over us, making every second you spend here tense, it's gonna end one way or another right here, right now. If you're with us, you're gonna start showin' respect t'everyone here and you're gonna apologize where it's due with sincerity. So can we trust you?"

Andrea thought Rick was asking for a miracle in getting Merle "Don't Take Orders From No Man Who Left Him To Rot On A Roof" Dixon to apologize to Glenn, Maggie, and Michonne. Merle hated being forced into anything, especially if a threat backed it up.

"I'm all yours, Officer Rick," said Merle. "That asshole out there tried t'kill me'n my brother; all y'did was handcuff me to a roof. Big difference. I ain't no man's man, but I'm here."

Though he didn't look entirely satisfied with Merle's answer, Rick nodded and lastly rounded on Milton.

"I don't know you. I hardly know anything about you, but what I do know is that you were the Governor's man before. To what extent that has meaning, I don't care, but if you're gonna be with us, you give up any hope of tryin' to reason with him right now. You don't make contact with him unless I authorize it and you don't make contact with anyone else in Woodbury. Is that clear?"

Milton nodded, but it wasn't enough.

"Verbal assent, Mr. Mamet. The rest of them said it, now it's your turn."

"I'm here as well."

"Then be ready, all of you."

Rick returned to his post and hollered because he, after all, had no bullhorn, "These are our people. We don't sell them out"

Phillip's magnified voice had no humor in it as he laughed. "Your people are your people, Rick. Four of them aren't _yours_. They were mine first."

"Bullshit they were. Andrea and Merle were with us before you ever found them. Michonne was never yours and never will be."

"And Milton?"

Andrea closed her eyes, praying that Phillip wasn't about to bring up the argument she thought he was because not only would it upset Milton, it would give him doubts and probably give Rick doubts as well.

"You can't tell me that Milton is, in any way, _yours_. You only met 'im yesterday, didn't you? He doesn't belong there and you don't want 'im. Let 'im come home."

"We claim him," said Rick and Andrea could have kissed him for that. She saw hope in Milton's eyes, but then Phillip broke the moment of reprieve.

"Let him speak for himself."

"He's got nothin' t'say t'you. You aren't gettin' our people. They're _all_ ours."

"Don't say I didn't warn you."

"COVER!" Rick roared and hit the ground as bullets struck the cart stacks. Andrea grabbed the front of Milton's shirt and pulled him down, but let go as soon as they were on the ground. She kept her arms over her head, waiting for a signal or some sort of rallying point but what could they do against six cars full of angry citizens out for blood?

With the amount of bullets peppering Andrea's cart stack, it would not hold and with a great creak, toppled over onto her, trapping her beneath it and exposing the others. She heard Rick issuing orders to reinforce the fence here or there, to run back in and get more weapons, to do _something_.

Milton took Andrea's hand and began to pull her out from under the stack. Instead of taking the easy option and lifting it off of her, he dragged her horizontally because standing up would mean exposing himself to the gunfire. When she had all but cleared the stack, the onslaught suddenly came to a halt. Merle shielded his eyes against the sun overhead to get a better look at the outer fence.

"They're leavin'. I don't believe it, they're actually _leavin'_."

"No, they aren't," said Milton, hand still in Andrea's though he seemed quite unaware of it.

"Awe, c'mon, man, that tactic ain't gonna work here," Merle argued.

"But you know how stubborn he is," Milton pointed out.

"He ain't got as many experienced men with 'im this time, though. Most've 'em in the trucks were just _people_."

"Perhaps, but he'll spread them out nonetheless."

"Can I cut in here?" Rick stuck his hand between Milton and Merle as if trying to divide them up after a physical brawl. "What are you two going on about?"

"He's making it look like he's retreating, but he's going to drive the cars out of sight and then have everyone double back on foot to attack the fences and make us keep our heads down," Milton explained. "If they can't get in, they'll make sure we can't get out. Phillip doesn't give up so easily."

"And I still think he'd be stupid t'try that here with over half his force unsure how t'use a gun," Merle added. "He's got maybe twelve men in fightin' condition, enough t'match us. The rest are just cannon fodder."

Rick scratched his temple with the barrel of his Colt Python. Appealing to Milton, he asked, "You think he'll come back on foot?"

"I'm positive. Phillip has a style of what he thinks is unpredictability, but I've observed him and I know how his mind works. He'll position all of the people in the trees so that we can't spot them and then they'll try to pick us off one by one as we come out for guard duty or any time we let ourselves go lax in security. Unless there's a back entrance to this place, we can't get out to sneak around them."

"Oh, there's a back entrance," Rick assured him.


	5. Chapter 5: Piss-Poor Promise

**MERLE**

It was one thing to have to listen to biters growling outside the window in Woodbury from time to time with little to be done to prevent it, but listening to someone who was deliberately singing at three in the morning after Merle had come in from watch duty was downright inconsiderate. He didn't care that the girl was doing it to rock the baby to sleep; it sure wasn't putting _him_ to sleep. Even pressing the pillow over his ears could not block out Beth's warble and so in a rage, he stormed down the catwalk to where she was pacing back and forth on ground level, holding the baby who was whimpering.

"Hey, y'wanna put a sock in it? People're tryin' t'sleep," he hissed down at her.

Beth stopped her pacing and faced him with an ugly look. "If she wails through the night, you aren't gettin' any sleep. Unless you've got a better way to quiet her down, this is what works and everyone else here is used to it."

"Don't try me, sweetheart, I ain't in the mood for this."

"Then go into a different cell block."

"Listen here—"

"Merle, mind what you say next," came Hershel's voice from within his cell across from the catwalk. "You gave Rick your word that you'd make amends."

Merle could have told the old man to piss off. He could have raised his voice and woken up the entire cellblock which was what he surely would have done before today, but something in the way Hershel spoke to him actually calmed him. Instead of berating him for speaking so harshly to his daughter, Hershel was calmly reminding him of the promise he made to make an effort to belong to the group. So far, he was doing a shit-poor job.

Raising his arms, Merle rested them atop his head and blew air hard out through his nose. "Okay…okay. Jus'—jus' do your thing, I'm goin' back t'bed."

"If you could help, she'll go down a lot faster," Beth called in a new, brighter tone.

"Um, no."

"Please? I just need to get a bottle ready for her. If you could just hold her for a second…"

"If it really is a second. I ain't good with kids and I shouldn't be holdin' one neither."

"Same thing I told Milton, Merle," came Hershel's voice again. "The baby needs to get used to you. Come down here."

"Nooooo…" said Merle, backing up.

The baby started to wail since Beth had remained stationary for too long and Beth glanced up at Merle pointedly. "She's gonna cry for a while unless you—"

Merle staggered down the steps and reluctantly held out his arms for the baby, anticipating an even louder shriek from the infant once she sensed his unwillingness to hold her. Beth placed her in Merle's hold and then ran out to the cantina to prepare her formula, leaving Merle with a ticking time bomb. The baby regarded him with a pout and whimpered as her bare legs were suddenly exposed to the cold.

"Keep her warm," Beth called.

_Right, keep the baby warm._

How else was he supposed to do that without holding her against his chest? Merle brought her in closer and let her sit on his right arm, covering as much of her legs as he could with his other hand to hold her upright, though the metal from his handicap probably wasn't very warm. Setting her head back against his shoulder, the baby looked up at him as if to say, _You suck at this, you know that?_

"What?" he said indignantly, but only so she could hear him.

Beth came running back over with a ready bottle and a paper bag and Merle turned towards her expectantly but Beth rolled her eyes and rested the bottle against her hip. "You're pathetic."

"Whatever, here, take her."

"She's asleep now, I'm not going to take her."

Horrified, Merle looked down to see the baby nestled against the crook of his shoulder with her eyes closed softly in repose. He shot Beth a look of loathing. "You planned this," he whispered angrily.

"I did no such thing. She's just comfortable with you so she fell asleep. I'll give her the bottle when she wakes up but I'm not moving her now that she's finally out. If you want you can go and have a lie down on my bed; I'll stay with my dad until she's up again. Just holler if you need me."

"Now hold up just one damn minute here—"

"Oh, and here's your dinner. I know you didn't eat," Beth added, holding out the paper bag.

Caught off guard by the statement, Merle changed his approach at lightning speed. "I ain't—what? You been keepin' tabs on me or somethin', how'd you figure I didn't eat?"

"You were on duty through dinner and you doubled to take over for Michonne and then went straight upstairs. Plus, the food's rationed out until we can go on another run and I saw that yours hadn't been taken yet, so here."

Merle took the bag, drumming his fingers awkwardly against the rough material as Beth stood waiting for him to speak again.

"Alright, that's—yeah, okay."

"Thanks for takin' care of her for a while, it really helps me out. That one's my cell," she said, pointing to the one closest to the cell block door. Merle trudged over to her cell which looked as uninhabited and ordinary as all the others except this one had a crib and miscellaneous baby items. Muttering darkly under his breath, he sank down onto the edge of Beth's bunk and the baby adjusted herself so that she was now sideways on his arm with her face half hidden in his wife beater.

"This's all your fault," he told her as he ruffled inside the paper bag and surfaced with some beef jerky and a candy bar. Ripping off the plastic with his teeth, he inhaled half of the chocolate and caramel bar in one bite and appreciated the irony of waiting for the little terror in his arms to wake up.

/

"Someone help!"

Merle sat up, bonking his head on the top bunk and almost forgetting that he still had the baby in his arms. She gave a startled cry and whimpered as the two of them listened to Andrea calling from above. Dashing out into the corridor, Merle saw Glenn and Maggie poke their head out of one cell while Carol, Michonne, and Carl each came out of others. With the paper bag still in hand and the baby clutching him in fear, Merle ran to the staircase, taking the steps two at a time and found Andrea trying to calm Milton down in his own cell as his legs kicked and hands clenched. His breathing was panicked and uneven and Andrea had her hand over his heart.

"Breathe, Milton, come on!"

Merle hurried over to her and she shook her head helplessly. "I don't know what to do."

Wordlessly, Merle handed over the baby and Andrea took her as Merle flattened out the paper bag and then bunched the opening up to make a small breathing hole which he pressed to Milton's lips. He made Milton sit up against his leg and instructed him to exhale into the bag. Only a small amount of air expelled into the bag, but Milton sucked it back in greedily, paused, and tried again, this time with a bigger result. Andrea held the baby, bouncing her lightly to calm her since Milton's wheezing apparently scared her.

"Go on, I got this," said Merle, shooing Andrea away.

Reluctant though she looked to leave, the baby was getting fussy and having two people who needed immediate attention in the same room was not doing either of them any favors, so she went, leaving Merle to continue to prop Milton up and help him hold his faux inhaler. A quick glance around the room told Merle that Milton preferred the top bunk since the cot looked slept in with a scrunched up blanket and Milton's glasses dangling off the side of the wire support. Merle had never seen Milton without his spectacles on, but his eyes looked smaller, narrower, and beady like he was silently judging (the prescriptive lenses magnified his eyes to insect size).

"How didja manage t'fall outta the bed," Merle mused aloud and was therefore surprised when Milton gasped out an answer between breaths, his voice slightly muffled by the bag.

"Panic…attack…night…mare…"

"This better not happen every night, I'm tellin' ya right now, son."

Milton glared at him out of the corner of his eye with such intensity that he looked possessed with his hazel eyes rolling upward to reveal the whiteness with bulging red veins. He seemed to be sending Merle a message that said, _Threatening someone who just had an asthma attack doesn't qualify as 'getting along'._

Minutes passed and no one else came to the cell either because Andrea had told them that Merle had it under control or else they just didn't give two shits about Milton Mamet and his delicate breathing condition. Milton's chest rose and fell in a slow, easy rhythm as Merle finally brought the bag away from his mouth. His grey undershirt was soaked through with sweat, his flannel pajama pants and socks wrinkled to the point that no iron could bring them back from all the kicking and rubbing against the floor he had done.

"Gonna sit up?" asked Merle and Milton nodded, holding Merle's appendage for support as Merle pushed him up with his hand at the small of Milton's back. He then called Andrea to return so that she and he could move Milton onto the lower bunk for the night.

Andrea appeared, saw what Merle was attempting to do, and switched the blanket and pillow to the bottom cot for Milton before supporting him onto it. As she and Merle lay him down, she checked his forehead and brought the blanket up to his chin like a concerned mother bundling up her child who had come down with an illness.

"Judith…" Milton groaned.

"She's fine, go back to sleep now. I'll be right here," said Andrea soothingly and Milton closed his eyes. She motioned to the door, indicating that Merle should follow and the two of them stepped out onto the catwalk.

"Thank you—for helping him," said Andrea, tugging distractedly at her ponytail.

"The hell happened?"

"I just heard him fall out of his bed and when I ran in, he was convulsing. I'd guess a nightmare, but I don't think he's had one in a long time, maybe since before the world went south. I panicked—sorry. It was lucky you had that bag on you."

Merle shrugged. "It had my dinner in it."

"You know, of everyone, I least expected you to run in and holding Judith at that."

"Is that her name? Funny, the old man's daughter never mentioned that."

"_The old man_ and _his daughter_ have names, Merle, and you should quit trying to distance yourself from them by refusing to use the names."

"Yeah, well names aside, you're welcome. Keep an eye on 'im, I'm goin' t'bed."

"That's it?" said Andrea incredulously. "Just waving off the fact that Milton could have died and that you don't care to learn anyone else's name here and then you're off to bed? You know, for the promises you make, Merle Dixon, you do a piss-poor job of keeping them. Should Rick have let Phillip take you?"

Merle stepped within an inch of Andrea's face. "If he had, you'dda been right there with me headin' for certain death. Don't think you're better than me, honey. I don't do well with people who talk down t'me and that's how we ended up on the wrong foot the last time—or don'tcha remember?" He held up his blade attachment for emphasis. "I ain't here t'make friends, no matter what I told Rick. I told 'im what he wanted t'hear 'cause you'n I both know he wouldda chucked me out if I'dda told 'im anythin' different. But let's get somethin' straight here: I'm gonna survive and s'long as y'all respect that and don't get in the way've that, we're cool. Rick'n anyone else who thinks that I'm gonna make amends with Glenn and Maggie's just foolin' themselves. It ain't happenin. I'm only lookin' out for two people here; one've 'em's me, the other ain't you."

"If you mean Daryl, then why did you just spend forty-five minutes helping Milton breathe through a paper bag at five o'clock in the morning?" asked Andrea.

Merle opened his mouth to retort, but for once he had nothing to say because in truth, he didn't know why. Perhaps his time at Woodbury had taught him to come running to actually help people at the sound of a scream. The people at that town had liked him and some of the boys had even hero-worshipped him so he returned the favor by looking out for them—until they turned on him. Hearing Andrea call for help brought back those memories and without thinking, he came to her aid and Milton's.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," said Andrea, and went back inside Milton's cell.


	6. Chapter 6: Evacuation

**MILTON**

A raging headache greeted him sometime around noon the next day. He kept his eyes closed, wishing the sun had stayed down for a few more hours as some of it hit his face through the cell bars. Someone had placed a blanket over him and he pulled it up to shield his eyes but after a few moments he could no longer hide beneath it since he was now gagging on his own stale breath. Steeling himself, he fumbled blindly around at the edge of the cot for his glasses, but he couldn't find them. He squinted around, figuring that they might have fallen from the bunk in the middle of the night, but as he rolled onto his right side he saw the floor swim up in a haze and collapsed back on the bed.

He heard steps on the catwalk and then someone's silhouette blocked the sunlight from touching him. Casting up his hand, he tried to make out the person's facial features but without his glasses everything was just a black blob.

"Andrea's on watch, asked me to check on you and bring you something to eat," said Maggie tonelessly. "There's a water bottle here and some trail mix. Couple of pain killers. My dad'll be in soon to make sure you're breathing okay."

She set another paper bag down at the foot of the bed next to the scrunched up one Milton had used as a breathing apparatus and turned to leave.

"Wait," said Milton, extending his arm to her. "Please, wait."

"What?" she asked rudely.

His head pounded with every syllable, but he knew that he had to bite back the pain if he wanted to make this work for himself. These people didn't trust him and he had yet to earn his keep, but he thought he knew where part of the problem lay and decided to use his words to his advantage.

"Have I done…something?" he inquired, still trying to bring Maggie into focus.

"Andrea told me you were intelligent but you're honestly asking me that right now? Rack your brains, Einstein."

"I do know…what Phillip did—to you and to Glenn, but only because your dad informed me. I didn't even know you were in Woodbury. I didn't know what Phillip was capable of or what he'd sent Merle to do."

"I think that's a load of hogwash," Maggie snapped.

"I swear, I had no idea."

Maggie stepped in closer so that Milton was able to vaguely make out her facial features. "Look me in the face and tell me that you didn't know."

"I would, but I can hardly _see_ your face—"

Maggie bent over, scooped up Milton's glasses and jammed them onto his nose so that he could now vividly see every raging detail. Her eyes met his and she dared him to lie to her. But Milton knew he was an abysmal liar so it would not be difficult to portray innocence.

"I didn't know.. Phillip kept me in the dark about his main intentions and the things I found out were only by deduction and educated guessing."

He couldn't tell if he had her convinced, but the scowl seemed to lesson on her features and she left without another word. His appetite was almost nonexistent but he knew he needed something in his system so he carefully chewed a quarter of his rationed trail mix bag and then guzzled down the water before crawling back into his cocoon of blankets to wait out the day. Once or twice he heard Judith making some noise on the first level, but the others remained respectively quiet. Andrea dropped in after her shift ended and he made room for her to sit down on the bed beside him.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, smoothing his blanket unnecessarily.

"Completely lousy, but I'll be fine in the morning," he assured her. "Despite everything wrong with me, I'm actually a quick healer."

"Still, I want to check your temperature," she said cautiously. He nodded to her and she pressed the back of her hand to his forehead. The touch tingled slightly and perhaps that was because it was an act of concern. He could not remember being touched like this by anyone but his mother and he had resented her touch for however brief a time he had with her. Seven was not an age to lose one's parents, but since Milton never had an emotional attachment to either of his parents, it was not terribly upsetting.

"Do I pass your test?"

"Mine, yes, though Hershel could rule differently. You just take it easy and call if you need me, okay? I'm right next door."

"Merle was here, wasn't he?"

Andrea fixed him with some confusion. "Yeah…what, you don't remember?"

"Vaguely. It's fuzzy, but I remember hearing him. I think I might have spoken to him, but I had so little oxygen in my brain, it's difficult to tell. Please thank him for me; I'm sure that the gratitude will not be wasted on him."

"We are talking about the same Merle, aren't we?"

"I believe so, yes."

"He was really helpful last night," said Beth, appearing in the cellway with Judith happily nestled in her arms. "She conked out right on him for a good hour or so."

"That definitely doesn't sound like Merle."

"Well, maybe it was her," said Beth, kissing Judith's forehead fondly. "Babies change people."

"Some people are too far gone," said Andrea forebodingly, which shut down the subject instantly.

The women left Milton to rest his eyes again, though with the relief of sundown came the terror of nightmares and he wondered if he could change his inner clock to stay awake through the night and sleep during the day. He couldn't afford to keep losing his composure in front of the others who already thought him worthless on top of him being a spy for Phillip. If he could just prove himself by performing some heroic deed, perhaps they (namely Glenn, Maggie, and Rick) would accept him into the fold more willingly. Even with Andrea to vouch for him, he knew he would have trouble adjusting to life here, especially when these people were already so distrusting and hardened by what the world had become, unlike the people at Woodbury. When Phillip banded them together, Milton knew he had at least one ally and relied on Phillip to make things work for them as they slowly built their community from the ground up, but now he had to start over once again. Always starting over…

/

"Milton, wake up, wake up _now_!"

Reaching for his glasses, Milton propped himself up on his elbow as he brought Andrea's silhouette into view. She had her jacket on as well as a bag slung over her shoulder and two weapons strapped to her back.

"Grab your things; we need to leave now," she said urgently.

"What?" he asked, nonplussed. "Are we sneaking out?"

"Yes, from Phillip. Daryl spotted them hiding in the trees and Rick things they're going to move in tonight, so we're sneaking out the back way. Everyone else is nearly ready, so put your shoes on and meet me downstairs in two minutes."

Since he hadn't even unpacked his small bag, all Milton had to do was slip out of his pajamas and into the last pair of clothes he had worn, lace up his boots, and he was ready, but he paused, glancing at his cell with another ache in his heart. It was the second time in less than a week that he had to leave a place he thought for sure would be his home. Even this dingy little cell had been security, but now he was leaving that too.

The others were waiting on the main floor, gathered in the cantina with all of the weapons distributed between them—except for what they saved for Milton. He was given a pistol with two fully loaded clips, not including the one already inside the weapon, a knife, and what looked like a gas grenade. As Merle placed the items in his hands, there was dead seriousness to be seen in his face.

"Don't stab nobody in the back with these, or I'll gut you myself."

"If the Governor's got us as tightly pinned down as I think he does, we'll have to sneak out in smaller groups," said Rick, showing no sign that he was upset about having to flee the prison (and nowhere near as emotional as Milton felt). "We'll meet up again somewhere that we all know."

"Which is nowhere," said Merle unhelpfully.

"Our farm," said Hershel quietly. "It's probably still overrun, but most of us know the way there and it'll be a place to regroup."

"Unless you told Phillip where it is when you asked if you could go looking for Daryl," said Andrea somewhat accusingly to Merle.

"I didn't," Merle assured her sourly.

"Well, I think it's as good of a place as we're gonna get. Only two of us don't know how to get there, so pair up with someone who does. No more than four to a group. Carl, carry Judith. Daryl—"

"Uh-uh, my brother goes with me, man," said Merle. "I ain't lettin' 'im outta my sight after the shit that went down in Woodbury, y'can be damn sure've that."

"There's no time for arguin', said Hershel. "Rick, take Glenn and Maggie with you. Beth, you go with Michonne, and Andrea."

"Um…" said Milton hesitantly. Out in the dark, he had no guarantees of anyone watching his back except for Andrea, so splitting the two of them up was not favoring well with him.

"If Carol can take Milton—" Rick continued as if he had not heard Milton speak, but Daryl cut him short.

"Naw, Carol either goes with us or Michonne's group. Hershel can't run, so that means two've us have gotta carry 'im along and one more for security. Merle's the strongest one here, but I know the way to farm. I'll guard point and Mamet can help Merle."

There were several outbursts, but Hershel rapped his crutch on the table for silence. "Now is not the time, people. We've already wasted enough of it making final decisions. Daryl's plan makes sense. Rick, you go out first and Michonne's group will follow you. We'll go last. No arguin' the point."

"Uh," said Milton again, hoping to get a word in, but Andrea shook her head at him. Under cover of farewells from the Greene family, she sidled over to him and squeezed his hand without permission, but he found that he didn't mind.

"I'll see you soon. Do you have that paper bag with you? Keep it close at hand, but your weapon should be out and _off safety_."

"You his momma, Blondie? He'll be fine; he's with us," said Merle, but turning threateningly to Milton, he added, " 'F I get a bullet in my ass, you're the first one I'm comin' after, Einstein."

"Okay," said Rick decisively. "This is it. Good luck everyone."

He led his party out with Carl in the middle holding the baby who thankfully was quiet for the time being and Glenn at the rear. Michonne let Andrea lead her own crew since the latter knew guns better and Milton's stomach gave an uneasy ripple as he saw Andrea's pale blonde hair whip out of sight into the inner catacombs of the prison. Only when Hershel cleared his throat did he realize the rest were waiting for him.

Daryl took lead and Carol the back with Merle and Milton walking in front and behind Hershel until they reached the back door where they would have to shoulder their weapons and carry him. Milton absolutely loathed the darkness, but it was worse in here, where not even the stars could shine, where no light was permitted even during daylight hours. Daryl had a flashlight, but Milton had to keep his eyes on Hershel in case the older man tripped because in the confined spaces of the narrow hallways, it was difficult to judge just how close they all were to each other. More than once Milton heard what he thought sounded like someone or something tailing them and glanced over his shoulder, temporarily forgetting that Carol was behind him. He jumped and she had to nudge him along with a slight bit of force to get him moving again.

"We're comin' up on the exit now. No talkin' unless y'have to. No gunshots unless they fire first, and only then if you can see what you're shootin' at. Knives and bludgeonin', people. Merle, Mamet, take Hershel."

Hershel apologized and then hooked his left arm around Milton's neck, the right around Merle's. Milton was charged with carrying the crutch and Merle kept his appendage free for close combat. All three of them were breathing quite raggedly in the damp air as Daryl crept up to the hole in the wall that had previously shorn up with tree branches as a camouflage, but had been moved aside by one of the previous departing parties.

Things went wrong almost instantly. Daryl had to turn off his flashlight and so Milton and Merle couldn't quite see where they should step, resulting in Milton landing with his heel on a plastic bottle and crunching it underfoot. The sound was deafening in the silence and Daryl wheeled around to confront him when a biter moved in on the group, hidden up to this point in a bramble of overgrown bushes along the perimeter fence. Carol put it down with a quick knife jab, leaving their backs exposed and Milton heard another biter closing in behind them.

"Merle," he whispered frantically.

It was lucky that Hershel had heard him, because Merle didn't and he relayed the message to Merle, who put Hershel down to take care of the biter.

Then they heard gunshots from the woods beyond. Everyone froze; no one dared breathe as they waited for a shout, a call for help, something to let them know who had fired. One of the girls screamed and Hershel gave a moan of fear.

"Beth," he said.

The trees came alight with the flashing fire of heavy artillery and Merle, who had rejoined Milton and Hershel, dragged them out of the way, making a b-line for the opposite end of the woods. Milton's feet danced over the uneven terrain, but he knew that if he went down now, he would take the other two with him, and he would not be responsible for anyone's death. The gunfire had roused the roaming biters and everywhere he turned, he could hear them groaning, rasping, heaving in their guttural tones.

"Y'all go on ahead!" shouted Daryl as he doubled back and Merle swore as his little brother disappeared into the night. Only too late did he realize that Carol was no longer with them. Merle dragged his fellow multiple-legged racers another two hundred yards or so, and then pulled them into a cove, hidden from the east and concealed overhead so that anyone pursuing them wouldn't see it if they were to jump off of the hill above. Merle knelt near the opening with his automatic rifle in place, but Hershel and Milton sat as far back as the cove went, listening hard. Panting, Milton dug around in his belt for his paper bag, but Hershel stopped him apologetically. Milton understood: the crinkling from the bag would be a dead giveaway if anyone was tailing them.

Setting his head back and tilting his neck upward to allow free air passage down to his lungs, Milton tried to silently breathe in and out through his nose and mouth. On his fifth round, he heard three voices: two irate and one anxious.

"Do you want to go back and tell him that we lost them? Hell, I'm not aiming to get shot up because of your mistake!"

"Well, gee, it was awfully hard to see where they was runnin' off to when I had a damned arrow zippin' over my head, blockhead!"

"Will the pair of you please shut it? It's suicide, what the Governor wants us to do and I don't fancy getting lost chasing after a ragtag bunch. I'm going back."

Milton recognized all three voices and he knew Merle did too. The first was that of one of the volunteers, Jake Dobbs. The second was one of Phillip's men, Henry Van der Stock and the third was Hans Pennyworth who had been recruited against his will. All three were experienced fighters and dangerous.

"Yeah, go back with a fully loaded clip, Hans? Governor will eat you alive for not even firing off a shot," jabbed Henry.

"No man tells me to take another man's life," said Hans stoutly. "I know what those people have done, and I grieve for Haley and the others who were shot, but these prison people only came back for Merle and his brother because the Governor called for their blood. It's one thing to have staged fights in the arena; it's another to sentence two men to death as if it's law set in stone. We have to maintain some sort of hold on humanity and in my opinion the Governor has lost it."

"Your gabbing gob is gonna get you shot one've these days, you know that Hans?" said Jake. "Look, we got a job to do and if we don't deliver, it's on all've our heads."

"For God's sake, Jacob, they have _children_ with them! There's a baby and a young boy, and another girl who can barely be out of her teen years. For all we know, we could be trailing one of them right now and I will not go to my maker with the guilt of having shot down a child.

"Governor said we shoot to kill except for the kid and the baby, but that boy's old enough to hold a gun and I seen him firin' back at us. He won't hesitate if it comes t'killin' _you_," said Henry.

"And he has every right to, after what we've done to them."

"You self-righteous prick, I've heard enough."

Milton heard a grunt of pain and then he saw a body fall from overhead, landing on its side in front of the inlet. He crawled forward to where Merle knelt, holding his weapon on the man and a patch of moonlight broke through the foliage above to reveal Hans Pennyworth's face with a cut running across his cheek where apparently either Jake or Henry had struck him. Milton fumbled with his pistol, checked the safety, and turned it on Hans just as the latter glanced up. His eyes met Milton's and in that moment, Milton made the desperate attempt to ask for mercy. He shook his head pleadingly and by some miracle, Hans turned his gaze upward to where the other two stood.

"I'll remember that, Mr. Van der Stock."

"You threatenin' me, Hans?"

"After the punch you just packed, I don't think you're in any position to ask that question."

"Y'know, I can just as well shoot you right here'n now and make it look like an accident," said Henry with a snarl.

"You can try," said Hans.

Suddenly, there was a startled cry, a panicked gunshot, and then two figures fell at Hans' feet, one of them fighting and the other clawing. A biter had gotten hold of Jake and was attempting to sink its teeth into his arm. Henry jumped down to help and Hans backed off, crawling towards his fallen shotgun. With a snarl, Henry went for his own weapon and was about to fire it at the back of Hans's head when Milton came to his senses and put a bullet in Henry's butt. Howling in pain, Henry spun around to see Milton standing up. The would-be standoff was foiled as Merle capped off another round into Henry's skull, laying him flat. On the ground beside him Jake had lost his fight with the biter and the corpse was feasting on the rubbery flesh around his jugular.

Hans had reached his shotgun and Merle moved in for the kill, but Milton grabbed his arm, crying, "No, wait!"

"We don't take chances with them!" Merle snapped.

"He could have sold us out, but he didn't," Milton replied. "He's a good person, Merle, you can't just shoot him because he's from Woodbury! What if it had been Mrs. Peterson or Val who was out here? An old woman and a teenage girl, are you going to cut them down too just because they're carrying a gun like Phillip told them—_threatened them_ to?"

"He was one've the ones standin' out in the arena, callin' for _my_ blood and for Daryl's."

"He was standing right next to me and he never uttered a word," Milton defended. "He was out there because Phillip ordered everyone to be in attendance and once the shooting started, he grabbed two of the kids and ran out ahead of me. He's a _good person_."

"Yeah, well sometimes good people die," said Merle savagely.

Milton moved in front of Hans, turning his back on the latter to shield him and Merle laughed at him. "You fixin' t'get a knife in the back, Miltie?"

"Merle, put it down," said Hershel, hobbling out to them and dodging around the feasting biter. "I saw it as well as you did that this man protected us when he could have shot both of you in the mouth of that cave. I can't allow you to shoot him in cold blood. Take his weapon and leave him be."

Milton swore that Hershel had to have some sort of hidden calming power (and Milton didn't believe in such fantastical things) because Merle lowered his weapon and shoved Milton aside to take Hans's shotgun who willingly handed it over.

"Get lost and don't follow us," said Merle, and hooked Hershel's arm back around his neck. Milton gave Hans a nod and took Hershel's other arm. They had not gone five yards when they heard an unmistakable howl of rage from the direction in which they had just come from.

Daryl.


End file.
